


They's Begging You To Stay

by masterroadtripper



Series: Best We Can [8]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gender Dysphoria, Just Period Typical Everything, M/M, Minor mentions of sickness, Period Typical Attitudes, Spot gets his period, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Male Character, Trans Spot Conlon, and an excuse to write about Race being a good bf, basically the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterroadtripper/pseuds/masterroadtripper
Summary: Its that time of the month again for Spot.  Race does as best as he can to help his boyfriend feel better.
Relationships: Crutchie/Jack Kelly, Romeo/Stripes, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Best We Can [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555765
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	They's Begging You To Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Hawking the Headlines and in the same universe as the rest of the series

Spot felt like he was dying. He wasn’t, he knew that, but it sure felt like it.

He’d woken up curled into a little ball, which was unusual in and of itself - he usually sprawled all over his mattress like no one's business. But he was fine, felt fine until he tried to stretch. That was when the piercing pain shot through his stomach and abdomen. With a whimper of pain, Spot quickly curled back up again.

_Has it seriously been a month already? It sure doesn’t feel like it, but, here I am again. At least you’re not pregnant. There could be worse things. Imagine having to explain that to everyone you knew, that the great Spot Conlon was carrying Racetrack Higgins baby. Yeah. Things could be worse._

Spot didn’t think that he’d made as much noise as he had, but soon, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder followed by the press of a bare chest into his upper arm. And there was Race. Looking over his shoulder into the ice-blue eyes of his boyfriend, Spot tried to force a smile. Race deserved so much more, it was undeniable. He deserved either a real boy to love or a real girl to build a family with. Not Spot. He wasn’t a real boy, and while he could give Race a family, he didn’t have any intentions of children.

In the logical, hormone-level part of his brain, Spot knew that that was ridiculous. He was just as much of a boy as Race or any of the other guys. Then this happened once a month and pulled out all his old insecurities and shoved them right in his face. It wasn’t fair. Spot hated this body.

“Youse ‘kay love?” Race whispered. Sure, there was a door and a thin wall separating the two of them from the rest of the bunk room, but it wasn’t much. If you listened, you could hear through the wall, and Race usually snuck out the window onto the fire escape early enough to not be caught. There was too much at stake to get caught. They knew that and they planned accordingly.

“Mmphh,” Spot managed to force out into his pillow. Was he okay? Yes, he’d been fine, he’d survive. Was he okay-okay? Not really. He just wanted to stay in bed all day and suffer. Which was not going to happen because he had to get out there and try to sell papers.

“C’mon, youse don’ sounds that good,” Race said, trying to over-power Spot and roll him onto his back. The movement jostled his aching abs and caused him to let out a very not-manly whimper.

“Spot,” Race said, his voice warming a little, “please tell me wha’s wrong. You ain’t sounds good and now youse shakin’.”

“Anthony, why youse likes me?” Spot muttered into his pillow. He could feel the blood still in his body curdling with his words. Disgust, revolt, all aimed at himself. Why couldn’t he just be normal?

“Can youse please jus’ answer me one question first?” Race replied, but before Spot could answer, he just kept going, “‘as it been a month ‘gain?”

“Mhmm,” Spot barely managed to confess into his pillow. Just saying it made him feel sick. And he really had to get up before he made too big of a mess of his pants, or - heaven-forbid - the blankets on his mattress. No one but Race knew his secret. None of his guys knew and he would really like to keep it that way. Which was admittedly difficult when the only washroom areas were communal with very little in the way of privacy. Sink time was rare and shower time was even rarer.

“‘M sorry Spot,” Race said, nuzzling into his neck and peppering it with kisses, “‘M so sorry youse gots to deal wif this ‘cause no otha guys do. I love you though. Love you so much.”

“Love youse too Race,” Spot replied, leaning into a real kiss.

“Gonna get up?” Race asked, nudging his arm a little.

“Can’t,” Spot replied.

“Well youse gotsta gets up ‘cause youse can’t gets no water for the ginga’ if youse misses breakfast,” Race reasoned and Spot knew that he was right. The Brooklyn Young Boy’s Lodging House at least served breakfast within their four walls - unlike its Lower Manhattan counterpart, but you were required to eat it in the cafeteria and no foodstuffs nor dishes were allowed to leave that room. Spot knew that he probably wasn’t going to be able to choke down any breakfast, but he did need the hot water that was prepared because - though it tasted nasty - ginger root did help his muscles feel better.

“Fine,” Spot grunted. He couldn’t imagine the heaps of hell he’d go through if someone walked into his tiny closet-room right now. Shirtless, curled into a ball, with another boy wrapped around him. He’d get jail time for sure, Race, probably not. It made Spot feel a little better knowing that he was only putting himself in danger while doing this.

“I love you Spot,” Race repeated, pressing another kiss into the skin between his shoulder blades as he rolled to sitting, muscles protesting in pain the whole way. He briefly wondered if this was how Jack’s Crutchie felt every day, struggling with aching muscles that refused to cooperate.

Spot pressed his feet to the cold floor and tried to focus on that feeling instead. The cold that radiated up his toes and heels, into his ankles and lower legs and not the nagging heat that pulsated from his lower abdomen outwards. Focusing on taking one awkward step at a time towards his pile of clothes, he heard the squeak of his mattress from behind him, signalling that Race was getting up and getting dressed as well. Getting ready to climb out the window and face his day on what felt like the other side of the planet from Brooklyn. Really, it was just across the bridge.

Quickly changing his pants and underwear - not before stuffing a Lister Towel into his pants - Spot felt a set of warm hands wrap around his stomach, just above where his pants rested without the help of the suspenders he had yet to attach.

“Race, if youse does that, we’s neva’ gonna leave,” Spot said, tipping his head back and resting it against Race’s now-clothed chest. They really did have to get going, especially Race, who had to make it back across the Brooklyn Bridge to collect the breakfast that the nuns handed out just after dawn.

“Mmmm, maybe I wanna say ‘ere all day wif youse,” Race whispered into his ear, while simultaneously tickling Spot’s sensitive stomach and making him squirm away with a giggle, effectively breaking the mood.

“Want ‘elp wif tha’?” Race said, motioning to the long strip of binding fabric that Spot had been holding in his hands.

“Please,” Spot replied, handing the fabric over. It was possible to wrap around his chest with one set of hands - he’d had to do it for six years all by himself before he met Race - but two sets of hands made it significantly easier. Silently they worked together. It was a well-choreographed dance by now. Spot puffed out his chest and filled his lungs as deep as he could as Race meticulously wrapped the beige fabric around his chest, making sure that it evenly flattened everything out. Then, it was secured in place with four safety pins and his tight red shirt was pulled over top. Spot barely even had to think about the process anymore - which was really better for everyone. The leader of the Brooklyn Newsies couldn’t be having mental-breakdowns every morning over something as simple as getting dressed.

“Youse ready ta go?” Race asked after leaning in and pressing another kiss to Spot’s lips.

“I fink I’ll be good,” Spot replied, pulling on his heavy jacket. It looked like there was a fresh layer of snow coating the rooftops and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Race pulling on a pair of mittens underneath his own heavy coat. At least he came prepared.

“Youse the bestest most beautiful boyfriend Spot,” Race said, walking towards the window and swinging his bag over his shoulder, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Spot replied before saying, “‘M comin’ to Manhattan tanight to talk wif Jack. See youse then.”

And they parted ways. Race through the window, Spot through the door, both holding their breath until they got to be again together that night.

* * *

Race flicked his cigar between his fingers with practiced ease. He didn’t need to light it, not tonight, but he did need something to occupy his fingers with as he waited in silent anticipation on Spot. It had been a slow selling day. Though, due to the snow, that was to be expected. He revelled in the sensation of his toes unthawing under his knit blanket and just having some time to relax.

He could hear the younger kids playing in the other room, probably with the dreidel that Davey or Les had been pulling out recently. Race didn’t understand the game and couldn’t pay attention long enough to figure it out, but the giggles filtering between the walls made him smile.

Crutchie was asleep on his bunk only a couple down, snoring lightly, his breathing heavier than usual. He had caught a chill a couple days ago and had been sniffling the entire time they had been standing in line at the office this morning. Race hoped that it was just going to be a little bit of a passing cold and nothing else. The small boy couldn’t afford to get any sicker. Jack was sitting at the foot of Crutchie’s bunk, wrapped in a blanket, knees pulled up to his chest. For the longest time, he had been watching Crutchie sleep, but now, he was asleep as well, head resting against the wall, hands limp from where they hung, suspended by his knees.

He could see Romeo and Stripes sitting on Romeo’s bed, a book propped up on the smaller boy’s knees as Romeo quietly read out loud. Race could tell that Stripes was paying attention and trying to follow along as best as he could. Maybe one day they’d teach him how to speak and hear, but for now, they just wanted to prevent him from saying any of his learned phrases out loud. Because none of them were good and often got him in trouble.

Most of the other guys were huddled, wrapped in their blankets, around the fire, warming snow chilled toes and fingers, sharing mindless stories from their day. Another gust of wind hit the side of the lodging house and Race could have sworn he felt the whole building shake with the force. Some of the cold air snuck between the cracks in the wood and Race pulled his blanket in closer to himself. New York needed to get warmer and soon.

Suddenly, the door to their floor opened and in scooted a snow-dusted Spot Conlon. His cheeks were tinted a deep shade of red and he was rubbing his hands together. He got a couple of waves and a couple of greetings from the guys by the fire, along with Specs encouraging him to take his boots off and let them at least warm up a little by the fire before heading out again. Following what could have been orders from Specs, Spot padded towards Race and Jack in bare feet.

He smiled at Race and pointed at Jack while whispering, “he asleep?”

“Yeah,” Race replied, “Crutchie gots ‘imself sick and Jack ain’t sleep last night at all, I fink.”

“If youse gots sick, I don’t fink I’d be able to sleeps at all eitha’,” Spot said, sitting down on Race’s bed. He leaned back into his propped up knees with a smile. It was as much physical contact as they’d let each other have for the moment. But they both knew that Spot would find a way to postpone his journey home as long as he could until either Jack or Davey offered that he stayed the night in the empty bunk above Race’s. They also both knew that Spot came fully prepared to spend the night and would do so in a heartbeat. Then, they’d wait until everyone else was asleep and Spot would climb into Race’s bunk, followed by a window or door based escape the next morning.

Instead of replying with his usual, “I love you,” Race drew a little heart shape over his chest. Spot smiled, leaning back against Race a little more. It was almost comfortable, this position.

“Where's Davey?” Spot asked, sitting up, “gotsta ask ‘im a question then I’ll be back.”

“Should be in the little kids’ room,” Race replied, watching Spot stand up. Logically, he knew he was going to be coming right back, but that didn’t make the empty feeling of loneliness get any better. He just wanted Spot to cuddle up behind him and wrap those toned arms around him. Tomorrow was never promised, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t make the most out of what they had right now.

A cold nose pressed into the space between the top of Race’s shirt and the bottom of his shaggy blond hair waking him up. He honestly had not had a very good sleep that night, interrupted periodically by Crutchie almost coughing both of his lungs out of his chest and just simply getting cold enough for his body to wake him up.

The moon had still been high in the sky when he had carefully extricated himself out of Spot’s arms to go digging through his stuff to find a cigar. He knew that it helped calm him down, and after being woken up by Crutchie’s fourth coughing fit of the night, he was willing to hand one over. Jack was awake, still sitting at the foot of Crutchie’s bunk, so he handed it to him. He got a weak smile in reply as he tucked himself back into his own bunk.

Morning came too soon, as per usual, as Spot pressed kisses across his neck. Looking back towards Spot, Race accepted a few proper kisses from him with a smile. Laying together in the silence of the bunkroom, Race revealed in the feeling of just being held. It was nice, truly.

He didn’t realize that he had fallen back to sleep until he felt a hand on his shoulder - much too large to be Spot’s - gently shaking him awake again. Opening his eyes in a panic, Race sat up violently only to be met, eye to eye with Stripes. The tall, lanky boy was kneeling in front of him and had shaken him awake.

Putting his finger to his lips, Stripes pointed at Spot with his other hand before mimicking the action of climbing something with his hands. They had been caught. Of course, Jack and Crutchie knew about their little relationship, and probably Davey, but now Stripes knew too.

Race was unable to reply as Stripes made the zipping his mouth shut motion with his hands and stood up.

It was only after their newest addition to the bunkhouse had walked away towards the washroom that Race let out a breath of air he didn’t realize he had been holding. Refusing to let himself panic in any way, shape or form, he gently woke Spot.

“Is time ta get goin’,” Race whispered.

“Mmphh,” Spot grunted into the mattress before sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Reminds me ‘gain whys I can’t jus’ stay ‘ere all day,” Spot muttered as he scooched himself off the bed.

“‘Cause we gots ta sell the papes,” Race replied and watched as Spot made his way towards the washroom.

Flopping back onto his bed with a huff, he forced himself to breathe deeply and slow his heartbeat down. He trusted Stripes, would bet any money that he had eyes for Romeo, but that didn’t mean that they hadn’t just made a very dangerous error. As much as he wished they could stay in bed together all day, Race understood the reality of their situation and heaved himself off the mattress to start his day.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Listers Towels were the first types of single-use pads. Interesting article where I got the info from: https://www.medicaldaily.com/menstrual-period-time-month-history-387252
> 
> 2) In case you haven't read Hawking the Headlines yet, the Stripes dude is what I decided to call the Mike Faist newsie (because of his striped shirt, creative, I know). He is actually Morris Delancey trying to escape Weisel and the life of a thug. In addition, he has severe Combined Expressive/Receptive Language Processing Disorder (meaning that he can't understand what people are saying very well and he can't speak very well either, but can read and write). That is why he doesn't actually talk to Race, he just makes gestures. 
> 
> 3) In the vein of Stripes, he is trying to tell Race that Spot should climb back up onto the other bunk, followed by promising not to tell anyone else.
> 
> 4) please please please please don't bind with anything other than a binder. it'll cause so much harm later on in life, it's just not worth it. 
> 
> 5) I don't know wtf happened to the ending of this story. I didn't really see any way to wrap it up...so it just ended there? I hope y'all liked it up until that point.


End file.
